


The Care and Taming of Cat-People

by Berseker



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Catboys, Blood and Injury, Cat/Human Hybrids, M/M, Nudity, as in the character not the country lmao, look it is what it is ok, lots and lots of nudity, minor England mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berseker/pseuds/Berseker
Summary: Luciano is a hunter. Sort of. More like a smuggler, really. When he captures one of the rarest species in the world, the elusive cat-people, he wants to sell him for the higher price. But this cat is so human that he starts to grapple with the moral implications of the whole thing.
Relationships: Argentina/Brazil (Hetalia)
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **A note:** Some AUs make an interesting and well-thought parallel with canon, or, since it’s Hetalia, real life events. This is not one of those lmao NOT EVEN CLOSE. It’s not a metaphor for anything. This fic has nothing to say about the actual nations of Brazil and Argentina, foreign relationships, boats, hunting, animal smuggling, cats, or anything that makes sense.

1\. 

Luciano caught him by sheer blind luck.

Luck, and, of course, the creature's suicidal – so to speak, since he wasn’t going to kill it – curiosity. But mostly luck. He was doing the right thing at the right time in the right place to get its attention, which meant this was meant to happen, and life was finally giving him a break. And that was that. He couldn’t waste this chance.

And so he was going to follow the plan, even if he – it – the thing looked human, ok, it looked a _lot_ like a blond beautiful naked human – anyway, even if _it_ was climbing into his lap to stare at his mouth.

So yes, part of his brain was wondering why said blond beautiful-definitely-not-human-no-matter-his-appearance creature was doing on his lap, but the other part was screaming at him, and he couldn’t just ignore it. Luciano was forced to hear his rational side listing all the reasons why he shouldn't do what the dumbest side of his brain wanted to do and those reasons were, in order of relevance, the thing was an animal, and having sex with animals was against the law of God and men, and even if it weren't this wasn't his thing, and look, the creature had a tail, and cat ears, and the almond-shaped eyes underlined by a dark black line, brighter than human eyes as if they had a light of their own.

Or, to be less poetic, kind of exactly like a cat. It had the same weirdly fixed look, too. Also, the beauty was only to be expected, because it was kind of the point, the reason why people were willing to pay so much for them, so Luciano should be – should have been - prepared. Right? Right.

So he wasn’t going to kiss it. Or have sex with it. End of the story.

It's just that he had never seen them before. Oh, he had heard the stories, of course, it would be hard to find a good hunter who hadn't. But he had imagined it a little different. Smaller. And not as human-like. And when they had mentioned the beauty, he had thought it would something more along the lines of adorably cute, and not... well, this. Beautiful the way a jaguar was beautiful. Not handsome like a young man with green eyes and weird ears. Who was still sitting on his lap.

He hadn’t even been sure they were _real_. The species was famous for being extremely hard to track, shy and aloof and all the stuff that was written on the fucking book he had used to base the expedition on, so forgive him for being caught unawares, when he was just trying to follow the river to capture the exotic birds that were his specialty in the first place.

When he heard the shuffling leaves, he assumed it would be some random animal, very big by the sound of it. He had been ready to shoot, he didn't expected to see one of them fall graciously to the ground, folding his knees to soften the fall, and then, as Luciano stared, trying to make his heart stop racing, the thing wandered from one place to the other, touching everything. Finding his food. And eating it.

And that was where luck kicked in, because Luciano had been very frustrated with his life for the last few days, hating the birds he was supposed to be catching and the work he was supposed to be doing and the people was supposed to be working for and this forest and his ship and how slow it was, how hard it was to go against the river's flow, which, ok, would be completely understandable if he hadn't actually paid good money to modernize it so he wouldn't have the trouble. What was the point in having all the machinery and technostuff if it wasn't going to make his life easier? Did they think he enjoyed playing with levers and watching blinking lights all day? Also the noise, what the fuck was up with that, of course he wouldn't catch anything with such a racket, he would be running away too, if he were a bird and saw that noisy thing coming his way.

So he decided to give himself a treat, and opened the jar of dulce de leche he had brought for times like these, which was the only thing the people in Buenos Aires could do right, apparently, since they sucked at ship-related repairs. He was spreading a very generous layer of the stuff on his bread, when the car-person fell from the trees.

And started to snoop around. And found the lid, and sniffed it, and then licked it and liked it, because he sat down to lick it clean before Luciano's wide almost unblinking eyes, and then looked around to see if he could find the rest, and, when his search proved fruitless, he looked sharply at him, making Luciano's hand tighten on his gun.

And then he went to him, and straddled his legs like that and spread his hands on Luciano's chest, trying to figure out his clothes and places where he could be hiding the rest of the treat. He was bad at it, by the way. He managed to miss all the pockets in his jacket. He focused on his shoulders and his neck, and his hair, and then he sniffled his neck and found a clue, apparently, because this led him to his cheek and then he licked the corner of Luciano's lip.

And then Luciano noticed he had dropped the gun at some point in the middle of this, and that his heart was racing again, but for a whole different reason. His palms were damp with sweat. They were also resting on the cat-person-thing's waist.   
He hadn't signed up for this.

But he would totally have, if he had known he could. Having a beautiful blond man – give it or take a few cat ears – on his lap licking his fucking lip did that to a person.

Right. Right, focus. He was a hunter, and he couldn't be distracted by the beauty of his prey.

His backpack was right by his side, and he had, even if he hadn't really expected to run into one of these, ever, something that was just right for this, uh, situation, so he raised his hand from his waist, very carefully, and searched inside the bag. His movement made the cat, let's call him that for the sake of sanity, and also for the sake of not wanting to do forbidden things with him just because he had a human shape, anyway, the cat turned sharply to watch his hand. Luciano could see his tail drawing a lazy S shape in the air behind his shoulder.

Focus.

He found what he was looking for – a little vial with six brown pills. The cat rested his hand - paw, whatever it was, it looked like a human hand, maybe with a different texture in the palm, and the nails were all wrong, sharp claws that looked stronger than knives – on his wrists, watching in fascination as he twisted the lid to open it. Luciano took one pill, and managed a week smile, and then took it to the cat's lips.

He ate it without the slightest trace of reluctance. Then he stopped, and thought about it, and scowled. He probably had assumed it would be more dulce de leche.

“I'm sorry,” Luciano said, “But -you'll have it later. Yeah. Nice kitty. You're- really good looking. I'm just saying.”

He was still scowling. His eyes were green and hard, and Luciano had to hold back the crazy laughter that wanted to escape. Right. The book hadn't said anything about this. And he was almost sure that cats didn't care much for sweets. Almost sure. He raised his hand again, but this time the cat's sudden fixed attention didn't startle him. He rested his fingers on his hair – soft, he thought, the smell was terrible, but it was soft, and long, falling on his shoulder, but dirty and tangled with... whatever it was. Bits of dry leaves. Luciano petted it, awkwardly, and then stroked him lightly behind his ears.

The cat seemed intrigued, but then he sat back on Luciano's legs, watching him.

It didn't take long. He saw the way his body relaxed, and then pulled him to himself, directing his head to rest on his shoulder – because he didn't want him to fall over and get hurt, or course, this thing was too valuable – and felt when the cat's body went limp against his. He was heavy. More than Luciano had thought. He had to struggle to get him off.

He laid him carefully on the floor, and got the backpack again. He found the three bands of leather with an iron string running in the middle. He closed one around his neck, the other two around his wrists. It wasn't the best in the market, but it was all he could afford, and anyway it would do. As long as the pressure points worked, and Luciano was sure they would. He had tested it.

Then he looked at him. At the beautiful, beautiful creature laying on the ground.

Sheer blind luck. Luciano had just found the rarest, most prized and expensive pet someone could ever want.

2\. 

Getting him to the ship was harder than Luciano had thought. He couldn't just drag him, because... well, it felt wrong, so in the end he carried him over his shoulder, all the way to the river, and by then he was glad he hadn't walked too deep into the forest. And that he had the dumbest ship ever.

It had started out as a huge raft, and he had built the cabin later, with the control room – control corner, actually, there were no walls to make it a separate room - his mat rolled up and resting against one wall, and the shower he had added, making a very ingenious use of some tubes and the water from the river. And the cage, of course.   
So it was a raft with a box on it, but that was about to change. When he got the money to buy a real ship, instead of this thing. He brought the cat-person-thing inside, dropped him on the floor and stretched. His back would never be the same again. Then he turned to the cage, analyzing it critically.

It wasn't exactly small, and the cat would have space enough to stand, if he – it, damnit, _it_ \- wanted to, and to sleep comfortably – for a given value of comfortable – and it was clean, and, most important, strong enough to hold him.

But just him. He couldn't go back to look for others from the species. He wouldn't have any place to put them in.

Oh well. One was enough.

“And no one else complained, so you don't get to complain either,” he told the sleeping cat, “Now get inside.”

He didn't move, of course.

“Ok, then, if you want to be like that..” And he raised his upper body, letting the cat's head rest on his shoulder, turning his face a little to avoid getting a mouthful of all that hair. He'd have to cut it, later. And give him a shower too. It would be good to do it now, but what if the water woke him up? Better to put him there and worry about it later. He'd have to cut his claws, too. And do something about his teeth.

So much to think about. But all that would have to wait. He crossed his hands over the cat's chest and dragged him to the cage.

Once he was inside, Luciano went out to find some pillows, because... because. The only one that wouldn't be destroyed by the claws was made of leather, and he never used it because, first, it was awful, and second, it was twice as awful when it was hot, and it was always hot. But it was that or sleeping on the floor. So he left it there, and locked the cage.

Right.

Now, he just had to go back home. He went to the control desk, and pressed a button, and then had to wait for a few minutes as the whole thing clanked and clacked until the anchor was pulled back. That took another five minutes, and Luciano rolled his eyes, and then laughed at himself, because the ship probably hated him back for making it do this and he could picture it grumbling about how inconsiderate he was.

He patted the desk as an apology, and pulled the lever to start the engine. Then he went to the steering wheel, and tried to think. It had taken him at least a week to reach this place. Maybe. He had lost track. But let's say a week. He'd have to take care of the cat creature for a few days. Find food. What did they eat anyway?

Anything that wouldn't run away, probably. They were famous for being good hunters. Luciano could hunt something for him, or maybe a fish would do. Probably. Anyway, a week until the nearest city, and then everyone would hear about his spectacular hunt and he'd start getting offers, but he wouldn’t accept any. He’d take the thing all the way to Rio, see if the royal family were interested. If they weren't, he'd sell him somewhere else.

He was still dreaming about how rich he would be, when he heard a noise from the cage.

No reason to worry, he told himself, even if the cage proved too weak to hold him, the cuffs and the collar would. So he ignored the way his heart was speeding up, and went there to check.

The cat was trying to kneel on the floor, looking confused. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, and then again, and then squeezed then shut, and pressed his hands against his eyelids.

“That's from the medicine,” Luciano said, feeling a little guilty, “I'm sorry. It wears off, just lie down and sleep it off.”

It looked up at him, and the green eyes filled with surprised recognition. Then it got up amazingly fast, considering, and grabbed the bars of the cage. And then it swayed, and Luciano would have held his hand, if that sudden jump hadn't given him a heart-attack.

So he just stared, and the cat – thinking of him like that was starting to feel weird, because look at him, that was so not a cat's body – stared back, and then looked around and at the ceiling and at the floor, and then dropped to his knees again, his hands sliding down the bars. The way he did that was so gracious, even the way he lowered his head and pressed his forehead against the bars, his eyes still tightly shut, and Luciano tried to remember if he had something to counter the effects of the medicine. As far as he knew, he was only feeling dizzy, maybe with a light headache, but probably not even that, it had been designed to make them sleepy and nothing else. Still, the poor thing was obviously hating it, so maybe it had never felt drowsy before. Who knew.

Also, Luciano wished he would find a different position. One that didn't involve kneeling in the floor with his legs spread open and his head down like that. It was making him feel weird.

“I don't know how to help you,” he said, “I would probably try tea, or coffee, but I don't think you'll want that. So. Something to eat, then? Will that make it better?”

The cat raised his eyes, without moving his head, and then looked down again, and whimpered, so he was left with the guilt all over again.

“Look, I'm sorry, but the collar would have been a lot worse. Now, let's see what I have here...”

He found some crackers that had helped him fight back nausea before – the thing wasn't exactly tasty, but it wasn't bad either, just bland. It would have to do. He went back to the cage, wondering how to go about this. He knelt on the floor in front of him, and took one from the little package.

The cat moved so fast that he didn't see it coming. In less than one second, he had put his arm between the bars and grabbed the package and pulled it back, before Luciano could think about reacting. He tore it apart, watching as the five or six crackers felt to the floor.

“... You're welcome,” Luciano said, “I was going to give it to you, you know.”

The cat seemed to sense his disapproval, because he raised his eyes again and hissed at him, with the hardest greenest glare someone had ever given him in his life, and then grabbed one of the crackers and shoved it inside his mouth with such an air of challenge that Luciano had to laugh.

“Ok, fine, I said I was sorry, didn't I? How was I supposed to know it would make you sick?”

The cat turned away. He didn't exactly give his back to him, but his point was made very clear.

And he didn't like the crackers. He swallowed the one in his mouth, but ignored the others, and started to examine the colorful package.

Luciano waited, amused. He would have petted him, if he could. But he wasn't going to put his arm in there, the thing moved too fast. What if it tried to bite him?

Eventually the cat dropped the package too, and then picked up another cracker, with a suffering dejected sigh, and then took a small bite. Luciano smiled.

“Not that bad, isn't it? I'll get you something nicer later.”

The cat looked around, and found the pillow. He took it in his hands, analyzing it for a moment, and then put it back where it was. Then he laid down, resting his head on it, with his back turned to Luciano, obviously planning to sulk for a while.

“Hey,” Luciano said, and pulled the tip of his tail. The cat turned sharply and moved it out of his hand, glaring at him again. Luciano laughed. “Fine, I get it, you're mad at me. I'll come back later with better food, then.”

He used the time to find the book on rare species, that he hadn't read in a while because it had been years since he had actually found anything unknown in this forest. It had been written by the famous explorer Mr. Kirkland, after his travels through the forests of Central and South America, in his search of... well, dragons and unicorns, but that was a detail and people shouldn't judge him for it. Much. The book was useful, even if the author was batshit.

Luciano looked at the cage. Now he seemed to be asleep, still facing the wall. He had a few scars crossing over his back, and his skin was light and fair, and Luciano knew it was soft to the touch, like silk covering the hard ribs underneath. That he could see, by the way. But he had no idea if people wanted them to be lean and gracious like that or if they would want to put a little more fat on his bones, but it wasn't his problem. His owner would handle that.

Enough of thinking about his back. He had a chapter to read.

And it proved to be very disappointing, because it was only four pages long. One had a large drawing of two adult cat-people and a few babies around them, playing with something that could be a ball or a bunch of leaves or a human head, and the other had a map with their habitat – a hachured area covering most of Argentina and a few miles around the Iguazu waterfalls that included Paraguay and Brazil, which made sense, because it was where he was, but still, way to be vague, Mr. Kirkland. What was he saying, that they came from all over Argentina?

… then again, maybe. Why not?

“I think I'll call you Martín, then,” he told the sleeping cat, “It's as Argentinean as it gets, and if the Spanish king buys you, then they can change it later.”

Unless it amused them to have a pet named for the guy who had defeated them in battle. Luciano didn’t care. The book also said that they were hunters, which he already knew, and that they could eat meat and fish and pretty much anything, which he didn't, but already suspected, and that they usually lived alone, but not too far from the rest of the... not exactly pack, but something almost like that. They hunted alone, and respected each other's territory, but they could form a family, sometimes, and they usually didn't mate for life, but sometimes it happened, and the kittens had to fend for themselves but mother instinct wasn't unheard of, and they learned how to hunt from their fathers, except when they didn't.

“And he got paid to write this,” Luciano said, “I think I’ll write a book too, and people will pay me a fortune to go give lectures on how much I don't know about stuff. Even the unicorn got more information than this.”

And the chapter on dragons went on for at least ten pages, too.

The part about how to care for them was equally short, but a little more useful. It confirmed the things he already know – the hair would have to go, unless he wanted to wash it every day to get rid of the smell, and comb it and clean and look for lice, and washing the cat would be hard enough without that.

He'd have to cut part of the claws, but cutting it off completely would be a delicate procedure that he shouldn't attempt here. Fine, he wasn't planning to. He had the metal glove to keep his hands – paws, whatever, the book used both interchangeable too – still as he did it. Same with his feet. As for the teeth, better to leave that to professionals and just avoid being bit. But the book said they usually didn't. Their main defense was the claws, and the agility to avoid predators.

Except when they tried to lick dulce the leche from their lips, of course. Clearly, they didn't think humans were predators. Or maybe this one was a bit stupid.  
Maybe that was why he hadn't liked the crackers, he had been expecting something sweeter?

“Well, that was enlightening,” he said, getting up, “Remind me to send a thank you note to Mr. Kirkland.”

But he was just being facetious. It wasn't like he had a real question the book had failed to answer, so he patted the book to show he didn't mean it, and went back to the steering wheel. One thing could be said for the ship, at least he didn't have to worry about this part. If the course didn't involve anything too complicated, the mechanical compass would handle it.

And Martín woke up a few hours later, when Luciano was frying part of the fish for himself. The cat stretched, raising his hands above his head, arching his back, stretching his legs, and then turned to the side. Luciano, who usually got up by sitting up first, found himself staring at the muscles on his back, the shadow of his shoulder blades, the-

Ahem. The fish. Right. Martín got up, as graciously as before, but this time he didn't seem dizzy.

Good.

“I told you sleeping would help,” Luciano said, smiling at him.

The cat looked at him. Then he ostensibly turned away again.

“Don't be like that, Martín. You still want me to cook for you, right?”

Martín didn't answer, of course, and didn't react to the name. He paced around in the cage, touching the bars here and there, and then he found the lock.

Luciano stiffened, his smile a little fixed. He fished the collar control from his pocket, ready to activate it, but the cat just poked it, first with his finger pad, and then with the claw, and he seemed more interested in the sound than in the thing itself. Maybe he wasn't used to metal?

Or maybe he was just noisy. He poked it again, harder this time, tilting his head and thinking God knew what. He looked at Luciano again. It was getting dark, but he could see his eyes perfectly clear, as if they had a light of their own.

It was a little creepy. But it made sense. Some sort of cat thing. Luciano just wished the book had mentioned it.

“At least you'll stop... showing yourself like that,” he said, “It will be too dark to see. I think we'll have to find clothes for you.”

The cat looked at him, bored, and then went back to pacing, stopping now and then to hit the bars with his claw again. Luciano left him at it, and came back a while later with a bowl of food. He passed it through the little opening that he used for exactly that, food and water. Martín hadn’t noticed it, and his's eyes widened, and he went down to explore the little door. He tried to open it, but he couldn't figure out the lock.

Well, _good_. Luciano went back to his own dinner, and, when he came back to check on things, the cat had decided the food was more important, because he was eating it in a surprisingly dainty way.

“You know, you're really smart. If you'd just learn how to close your legs, I think they wouldn't even have to train you.”

This time, Martín didn't deign to look at him.

3\. 

When night had fallen, Luciano went back to the control desk. He turned it off, let the anchor down, and turned on the power fence that would keep possible intruders away, if anything felt like intruding. It had never happened, but who knew, maybe the rest of the pack would come looking for Martín. He doubted it, but it could happen. He didn’t feel like getting murdered by a bunch of cats.

Then he lit a candle, taking the traditional five seconds to mourn the fact that he didn't have that fancy light system other ships had, but this time, his heart wasn't in it. He'd have the money soon enough, and then he'd buy another ship, and would let this one sink to the bottom of the ocean. Or the river. Except for the fence, because it had been too expensive to just throw away.

He turned around, then, and saw Martín's eyes fixed on him.

He wasn't even blinking. It took Luciano almost a minute to think that it was probably the fire that was catching his attention, and then he smiled, feeling even more awkward than before, and went near the cage.

“You don't know this? Pretty, isn't it? No, you can't touch it-” Martín had pushed his hand between the bars again, trying to reach the flame, and Luciano pulled it away. “Really. Never touch it. You'll get hurt, and then you'll get mad at me again.”

He was mad at him _now_. He tried to reach the flame, pressing his face against the bars, getting increasingly frustrated with Luciano's refusal to let him have it. And then, so sudden that Luciano almost didn't see him move, he grabbed the next best thing, which happened to be his sleeve, and Luciano yelped, and held his wrist and pressed the cuff.

Martín shrieked, and pulled his arm away, and then retreated inside the cage until his back hit the other side. His eyes were wide.

“...yes,” Luciano said, trying to force a smile, a little to make him relax, and a little for himself too, because his heart was still racing, “I can activate it by touch, but that was weak, I bet you didn't even feel it. Come here, let me see.”

He waved at him to come near, but Martín backed away, holding his wrist against his chest, looking at the cuff as if it had personally betrayed him. Then he tried to take it off, first by pulling it, and then by trying to tear it with his claw.

Then he touched the collar, and looked at Luciano, and there was something in his face that seemed to turn that look into a question, and- that was... clever of him, wasn't it? If he was asking if the collar would do the same thing? But hey. They were supposed to be smart. As a species. Luciano smiled again, and then went to his bed, ignoring the silent question and trying to forget the accusation in those eyes.

He unfolded the mat, and laid it on the floor. It could, with a little generosity, sort of maybe pass for a very thin mattress. He lay down, and then blew out the candle.

Then Martín started to pace.

And to hit the bars with his claws, making that metallic musical sound, and when Luciano turned to complain, the startling sight of those green eyes shining in the dark made him stop.

… _why_ did people wanted that thing in their houses anyway?

He considered activating the cuffs again. And the collar. And throwing him in the river, so he'd stop being so creepy. But that look had made him feel guilty, so he covered his head with the pillow and tried to sleep through the noise.

4\. 

His mood the next day was terrible. Luciano could stay up all night, if he had to, to hunt or to do something fun, but he needed to sleep at some point, and he hadn't the day before before capturing the stupid cat, and now he was sleep deprived and life sucked and he hated everything.

He needed coffee.

That would make it better. He got up to do it – one good thing about all this was that he always had water available. And since he didn't have to worry about the smell ruining the hunt, he could make as much as he wanted.

To his surprise, Martín woke up too. He had assumed he'd sleep all day, but now he heard him stretching, and considered ignoring it, but in the end he couldn't resist and turned to watch the free show.

“Good morning, Martín,” he said, mostly to get it used to the name. It had ruined his sleep, so it was easier to think of him like that.

To think of _it_ like that. Whatever. He'd get the hang of this. Eventually.

Martín looked around, probably trying to remember where he was. And then he looked up at Luciano, and that reminded him. He frowned, and touched his collar again.

This time he tried to pull it away, but couldn't even put his finger between the leather and his neck, so it didn't work, but Luciano could tell it was what he was trying to do, and also, by the way he stared and huffed at him, that he really wanted him to take it off.

Oh, and that he was still upset.

This was starting to bother him. Not that the cat was upset, although that made him feel guilty, the fact that was... he wasn't sure. But there was something off about this. Martín's face was extremely pure, his eyes clear and guileless and, in that sense, completely wild. None of the... calculation, for lack of a better word, that Luciano could recognize in humans. And they were known for being smart, comparing to other animals. A clever species and all that. It was just that sometimes...

No. He was being stupid. Just because he looked human, Luciano was trying to find humanity there. It was probably very common; he could bet those king and queens who kept them as pets did the same thing. People did it with real cats, for God's sake, treating them like people, assuming they could understand. Of course, it would be easy to do the same with the cat-people, humans tended to do it no matter what. And Luciano couldn't even judge them, because he talked with his ship. Humanizing things was...well, human.

He finished his coffee, and tried to make a plan. He had to do something about his hair today, and... wash him, maybe? And yes, that would be even more awkward than all the awkwardness so far, but Luciano could probably shove him under the shower and hope for the best, right? He didn't have to... rub him clean or anything. Not that he would complain, just-

Anyway.

He was proud of the shower. It was very rustic, but it worked, and, more important, he didn’t have to clean it. It pulled water from the river and filtered it – sort of – and he could even warm it up, if he were willing to waste coal on it, and the used water went back to the river. Perfect. He was going to use it cold today, because Martín was probably used to it and would freak out at warm water. And it was too hot anyway.

So that was it. He'd do that, and then start the journey home.

By then Martín had realized that he wasn't planning to release him, so he glared at him, and then went back to his pillow to sulk. This time he laid down with his knees against his chest, his tail sweeping over his thighs and his buttocks. Luciano wanted to touch it. All of it. But mostly his tail.

He had been thinking something important, what was it? Ah, right, showering. He just needed something to cheer him up first.   
He rummaged through his bag and, after a few seconds cursing the mess and the random sharp thing that had bit his finger, whatever it was, he found two ring puzzles, one of which he had never managed to solve, by the way, and the little useless thing with the red light. That one had more potential. It didn't really do anything, except for projecting a tiny red dot when you pointed it at something and, as far as Luciano knew, it had been invented to annoy important people, because you could point it at their eyes when they were trying to give a speech. And even that was stupid, because they didn’t notice until someone pointed it out.   
At least that was what happened when he tried it.

He turned it on, and projected the light on the floor near Martín.  
The cat saw it, and raised his head, deeply intrigued. Then he knelt on the ground, staring at it. Watching the way he moved was wonderful, Luciano thought. Every movement seemed to blend into the next and he was so fast, so gracious.

And silly. He slammed his palm on the floor over the red dot, and then raised his hand to see if he had caught it, frowning when he didn't find anything. Luciano bit his lip to hold back the laughter, and circled him with the light, watching how he hunted it, getting increasingly annoyed. It made Luciano feel strange, because he was so _innocent_ , so silly, and so- it was a grown man, naked, in a cage, wasn't it, and he was sick for enjoying this, but that was stupid, he knew it was, and before he could solve the moral dilemma Martín lost the dot for a second and looked up at him, and saw the red beam from the little machine.

His eyes widened.

And then he laughed.

The sound was so unexpected, because he hadn't done it before, and it sounded so normal, and Luciano didn't even know he could laugh, but he did. He got up and reached out, his green eyes suddenly happy and bright. Luciano smiled back, still shocked, and then put the thing on his hand. And then he held it, closing the cat's fingers on it, just because he really, really wanted to touch him again.

“Here,” he said, “You press this, right here.”

He held his hand to show him the little button, then helped him to project it on the wall. Martín was grinning in delight, and Luciano couldn't help but think that his touches and his voice amused him too, because he looked from the little thing to his hand to his face, looking pleased even if he couldn't understand a word Luciano was saying.

Maybe he was enjoying the attention. When Luciano let go of his hand to go back to the control table, his smile dropped, and he started to bang the thing against the bars.

“Hey, cut it out, you'll break it. And I like that thing.”

He tried to take it from him. And, to Luciano's surprise, Martín took one step back, holding it tighter, and then hid it behind his back.

It was Luciano's turn to glare.

“This is mine. I didn't say you could have it.”

This time he could have sworn the cat understood him, because the look in his eyes was unabashedly smug. He was challenging him, and the worst part was, it was working. Luciano wanted to open the cage just to get it back, just to show him.

But he wasn't going to be so easily manipulated by a cat. Cat-person. Whatever. So he just huffed at him, and went back to the desk, ignoring the loud bangs against the bars. Martín would get tired of it soon enough.

He looked at the levers and buttons that had seen better days. With a sigh, he turned off the protective fence. He had forgotten about it. Leaving it on for so long meant that he wouldn't be going anywhere right now, because the engines had to rest.

“I'm so killing the guy who installed this,” he said, turning back to Martín. “Better yet, I'll sic you on him, just promise you won't lick him.”

The cat stopped hitting the bars and looked at him. Luciano tried to imagine the scene and failed. Martín would probably just go crazy in the workshop and touch everything until he hurt himself.

Martín sat on the floor, when he saw Luciano wasn't going to do anything more entertaining, and started to throw the machine up in the air, so he could catch it again. He seemed disappointed at the fact that he had to keep pressing the button to see the pretty light, because he always stopped to check if there was a way to make it stay on.

Luciano watched him. The way his tail made lazy shapes in the air. How he seemed to be so comfortable, even if he was sitting on the floor with no support for his back – look, Luciano liked comfortable chairs, ok, with soft pillows he could recline on, sue him – and the way he didn't bother closing his legs...

“I wonder if the others are just as beautiful as you are,” he said, “Or if it's just you.”

Martín didn't look at him. He had a very pointed way of not looking. He was _ignoring_ him.

Of course.

“You should be grateful, I don't go around saying that to just anyone,” Luciano said, shaking his head, “But now, since I'll have to wait for this thing to come back, let's do something about that hair.”  
Now that he was getting used to the smell, it wasn’t that bad. Just weird. The way hair usually smelled if it went unwashed for a while, and Luciano knew that because he didn’t have creams and stuff to use on his when he was hunting. Still. Martín would have to get used to being groomed.

He got the control ready, just in case, and then opened the cage. In one second, the cat was standing, and Luciano hadn't even seen him getting up. His green eyes were a sudden mix of joy and weariness, his tail was upright, slightly hooked at the tip, and it looked like a question mark, and that made Luciano laugh. He patted his head, then rubbed behind his ears. Doing this with him standing up felt weird, because Martín was a little taller than him, and it felt a lot like he was being condescending to someone who didn't get it, which was also sick and not what he meant at all. It still made him uncomfortable.

Martín didn’t seem to mind. He stepped out of the cage, looking around curiously but keeping his body close to Luciano's. Really close. Luciano could put his arm around his waist, if he wanted to, and bring the naked body against his own.

He didn't. He took the light machine from his hands, ignoring Martín's indignant hiss, and put it on the table, holding his hand when he tried to take it back.

“You can have it later, I promise,” he said, and then he raised his hands to examine his claws, and Martín got distracted by his interest.

He was doing it again. Thinking of him as a human. Maybe giving it a name had been a bad idea.

Martín frowned at him. His expression had probably changed, and this had upset him, so he pulled his hand away, and then decided to find something else to do. He went straight to the control desk, to see the lights and levers, and Luciano had to shove him before he could press something. Then he went to his mat and lay down, the same way Luciano had done to sleep. Then he got up, this time slowly, looking contemplative.

Then he picked the mat and tried to take it to the cage.

“Oh no you don't,” Luciano said, pulling it away from him, “This is mine! I gave you the pillow.”

Martín didn't like that. He tried to take it from him, and Luciano dropped it on the floor and had to drag him away, because they were going to destroy it if they pulled it like that, and he liked that thing.

“What is with you and stealing my stuff?” he grumbled, “Look, you just have to let me clean you up so we can leave, that's all!”

Martín scowled again, his eyes hardening with a dangerous glint.

“And don't look at me like that,” Luciano said, “Look, look at the... at this faucet. Isn't it interesting?”

He led him to it, and showed him the handle, that he had made himself with whatever he could find when he was building it. It worked, sort of. Martín still looked cross, but he looked at the thing, following the shape with his fingers.

Right, then. Luciano also had to cut his hair, and this would go faster if he did it during the shower, and anyway it would be pointless to wash it before. He didn't have scissors with him – didn't have it, period, but whatever – so he got a knife.

So, all things considered, what happened next was entirely his fault.

Martín took one step back when he saw the knife. His eyes widened, his ears starting to flatten out.

“It won't hurt, you won't even feel it,” Luciano said, trying to sound soothing. He touched the long blond hair, and maybe the glint of metal made Martín think of claws, because then-

- _then_ Martín went from alarmed to terrified, to aggressive and then completely insane. He tried to push him away, his claws going everywhere, and Luciano tried to hold him, but Martín was strong and fighting by instinct, and a lot stronger than he expected. One slap sent the knife flying away, and Luciano raised his hands, to show he didn't mean to hurt him. A sign of surrender.

It was a mistake. Martín scratched him, his claws tearing Luciano's face easy like knives cutting bread, and the gush of blood down his cheek, down his neck pooling on his shoulder, and the pain, where so overwhelming that he only released the pressure on the control's button when Martín fell on the ground.

He hadn't even known he was pressing it.

The collar tightened around his neck and Martín tried to rip it off, gasping, fighting for air, and Luciano wanted to press harder, wanted to kick his stomach and let the collar choke him to unconsciousness, to show him, punish him until the pain went away, because the burn on his face made him-

Ok, no, calm down, he thought, that would leave marks, the price would lower, so calm the fuck _down_. He shoved the control inside his pocket, so he wouldn't be tempted to press it again, and grabbed Martín's now unresisting hands and locked the cuffs together, then to the collar, so it couldn't use his claws without cutting himself. The cat didn't even try to resist him, its eyes glassy and unfocused, not even when Luciano got the knife from the floor. He twisted his hair in one hand. Then he pulled the creature on his lap by the hair, holding him face down and cut it as short as he could.

Martín was very still, his face pressed against his thigh, even when Luciano let go. And now there was golden hair all over the floor, and he was still bleeding and it was making lightheaded. He should do something about that.   
He didn't want to; he wanted to keep punishing him. It. Getting up took all the willpower he had, but he did it, and then he pulled Martín up too, and the way he staggered made something hurt inside him but Luciano ignored it. Martín wouldn’t get compassion, he’d be breathing just fine in a few moments, while Luciano would have the scars for a long time. If that _thing_ had raised his hand for another fraction of an inch, he would be blind.

He turned on the faucet, held the trembling cat under the stream for three or four minutes, letting the water wash away the sweat and the strands of hair, and the blood that had spilled on him. Then he pushed him to the side, and didn't make a move to steady him as Martín slipped on the wet floor and fell down again.

He turned the faucet until the water was a gentle trickle, and then cupped his hand underneath.

When he brought it to the wound, it stung so much that he couldn't finish washing it. Luciano tried to clean his shoulder and his neck as best as he could, just so he wouldn't drip blood all over the ship, and grabbed Martín's arm again. He pulled him up and then dragged him to the cage, making the cat stumble after him, then locked it and then he just – he pressed his forehead against the bars, feeling sick. The cat curled up around the pillow, his pupils dilated and his eyes still unfocused, his ears flat against his head.

And he was looking at him. At his direction, anyway, his cheek pressed against the leather pillow, his mouth open, as if he wouldn't be able to breathe right if he closed it, and he looked sick and fragile and so out of it that for a second Luciano hated him, because he looked human, but here he was, curling up around himself, looking at him like that, like the stupid wild animal he was. 

Fuck this. Fuck this whole stupid bullshit. He found a metal plate that could more or less work as a mirror, and tried to wash his wounds again.

It took a long time, because he couldn't bring himself to touch them, it hurt too much, and the blood wouldn't stop. After way too long of this, he gave up and put a small stool near the shower, so he wouldn't have to stand. And he’d still have to sew it together, because the lashes had been too deep to heal on their own.

The cat started to whimper. Luciano got the control from his pocket, and raised it for him to see.

It worked. He stopped.

When Luciano finished, he found old rags that he used to stanch the blood, pressing the fabric against his face. There was something for the pain too, a syrup he had made with herbs and alcohol, but it usually made him drowsy, so he'd have to take care of this first.

Fuck this whole trip. It wasn't like he couldn't waste another day here, and Martín deserved extra time in the cage, so he turned on the protective fence again. That would be his plan, stitch this as best as he could, and then take something to make him sleep for the next sixteen hours, because if he didn't, he would take the cat and drown him, rendering the whole trip pointless. And he wanted that money.

He found the needle, and the thread. It took him at least half an hour of bracing himself and a few false starts before he could do it. 

Martín watched him all the time, silent and sullen, his hands closed under his chin, wrist cuffs tightly connected to the collar. 

“Just wait until they start to train you,” he said, a vicious whisper. The cat reacted to the tone – a small change in his eyes, something that could mean anything or nothing at all. Right now, Luciano couldn’t care less.


	2. Chapter 2

5\. 

The rest of the afternoon went by very quietly. His eyes were watering when he finished the stitches. Then he took the syrup for the pain and lied down on his mat.

He felt his body relaxing, distancing him from the pain, but didn't fall asleep, not exactly. He just felt strange. He could hear the sound coming from the fence, weirdly amplified, a soft buzz hiding in the sounds from the jungle. And the heat, making his skin sticky with sweat.

The ceiling was undulating. He had to relax his eyes to see it, because if he focused too much, it would stop, and then everything around it would move. He took another pill when the pain started to bother him again, and this time he fell asleep, because when the next time he opened his eyes, the light had changed, and he could tell it was the middle of the afternoon.

And that meant he had slept for most of the day. Luciano had five seconds of self-disgust, and then decided he would just take another pill and sleep into the night, and think about the world tomorrow. He felt the floor around him with his hand, searching for the vial, when he suddenly remembered Martín.

The memory came with a jolt of adrenaline that made him sit on the mat. Right, that stupid cat, he had left it the whole afternoon restrained by the cuffs and the collar, the poor thing. Then he felt the stitches on his cheek, and the sense of guilt dramatically decreased. But still.

He had to struggle to get up, grumbling and cursing, and then turned on the shower so he could wash his face. There, better. He avoided the wounds, just splashing the water on his eyes, and then on his lips because he was thirsty and not in the mood to boil the water first. Then he went to the cage, still rubbing his eyes, dizzy from all that medicine.

It was a good thing that he wasn't feeling guilty anymore, because Martín looked pathetic, laying down on his side like the last time Luciano had seen him, his wrists still firmly locked to his collar around his neck. Luciano could bet he had tried to break it. So, smart enough to figure out the red-light beam, but not the locker or the clasp.

Good.

“Hi there,” Luciano said, just to break the silence. Martín raised his eyes, then looked down again, the golden eyelashes almost disappearing against his fair skin.

Luciano tried to squat in front of him, but he had to grab the bar to do it and it made the dizziness worse, so he just sat on the floor. And waited.

The cat opened his eyes a little, and then closed it again when he saw he was still there. And after a few seconds he did it again, and Luciano just waited, trying to decide what to do now.

He wasn't as angry anymore. Well, he was, but it wasn't that crazy unthinking rage from before. So when Martín suddenly opened his eyes, tired of pretending he was asleep, and turned to the other side, Luciano felt a light pang at how the motion was far from his usual grace.

“Come here, you dumb thing, you don't want to stay like that.”

He didn't even move.

“Well, suit yourself, then,” he said, and then he got up.

And, for some unfathomable reason, this made Martín look up, alarmed, and then get up to his knees. Luciano waited, frowning, his hand still on the bar to steady himself.

Martín didn't try to rise. He looked so unhappy. Luciano cursed under his breath, and then he opened the cage.

He didn't want to, and he was regretting it already, but since Martín's face was killing him, at least this way he could be miserable without the added weight of guilt.

He looked outside. The idea of staying here with him felt so oppressive, and he was still recovering from the medicine, and he could at least enjoy the sunlight.

And the cat could fuck himself, for all he cared. Luciano went outside, and sat near the door, so he'd see if Martín decided to come out, and hear if he managed to destroy something even bound like that.

6\. 

He didn't know how long it took for Martín to leave the cage. Maybe one hour, maybe a little less than that. He heard the sound, and braced himself, his hand resting on the remote.

But Martín just looked at the river, and then he went back to the cabin.

He did this three times, before finally stepping outside, and then he got momentarily distracted by the doorway, but when he was done with that, he kept giving nervous glances at the water.

Then he finally made up his mind and sat near the door, resting his back against the threshold. Luciano watched as he tried to find a comfortable position, eventually giving up and kneeling on the floor like he usually did. His eyes were hard to read, too green and too bright and too alien, brimming with betrayal.

Luciano looked away. He should get up, go there and unlock his wrists. But then- before coming outside it had seemed easy, but now, here in broad daylight, things looked different. What if the cat decided to attack? It would be wiser to get him inside the cage first. But he had just let him out. But he couldn't leave him like that. But he couldn't let him go. But he couldn't-

Nothing was making sense, he couldn't decide what to do and the way Martín focused on his face was getting on his nerves, and then the cat moved and he almost jumped out of his skin.

Martín stopped, the surprise in his eyes sending a very clear message. Luciano found that so revolting that the fear subsided, and he snapped at him.

“I'm not afraid of _you_. I just don't want you to attack me, alright?”

Martín tilted his head. Then he slid a little closer, slowly, and Luciano felt his anger deflating again. He was used to Martin’s natural grace, and it hurt seeing him struggle, and then, close like this, he could see how dirty he was, hair sticking to his body from falling on it when he was still wet.

So much for a shower, Luciano thought. He held Martín’s shoulder by reflex, because it felt like he was about to fall on his face, and to prove he wasn’t afraid of him. He wasn’t worried. He _wasn’t._

The touch made Martín stop moving, but he didn’t try to... jump at him, or bite. Here goes nothing, Luciano thought, and unlocked his wrists from the collar.

The relief filled the cat's eyes and, for a second, Martín didn't seem to mind his hands still locked together. He found the place where the two wrist bands connected, and gave another go at trying to rip it off.

Luciano relaxed. See, no reason to worry. And he still had the control, so he was just being stupid.

“I didn't mean to use that,” he said, trying to sound gentle and harmless, “I wasn't going to, I just... I didn't think, or I wouldn't have tried to... I lost it, I mean, I wasn't thinking, and- can't we call it even?”

He pointed at the ugly scars in his skin, trying to make him understand. Martín blinked, looking confused, and looked at his cheek. And then, for a second, Luciano could have sworn he flinched.

Then he tried to come closer to see the stitches.

Luciano raised his hands. “Ah, no, stay there. I was just showing it. Stay there.”

Martín stopped, his lips tightening in a thin line. Then he sighed, and looked away, and Luciano was at a loss again, trying to understand what in the world he could be thinking.

This was so hard. He was usually good with languages, but this was a whole different thing, and how the hell was he supposed to communicate with someone who didn’t speak human language? How was he supposed to say all that with gestures? He looked at the river, fighting the urge to cross his arms and just sulk.

And why did he care about all this? Why was he sitting here fretting over his silence, he was a _hunter_. He had never worried about his catches' feelings, had never tried to talk to them, why should he start now?

But Martín was sitting by his side, lost in his own little word, now analyzing his own fingers, looking human and wild at the same time, and Luciano couldn't think like that about him. Not enough to erase the uneasiness he felt.

So when Martín gave up on freeing himself, and turned to him with a pointed look in his eyes, Luciano unlocked the cuffs. Why not? At least Martín would know he hadn’t meant to hurt him.

The cat let out a deep breath, and Luciano went back to slouching and moping. Then, to his surprise, Martín squinted at him, and got up, nimbly and gracious as before.

Luciano watched him. He shouldn't care. He tried to start not caring as Martín walked around his so-called deck. He should think about this, about how pathetic it was and how much better the new ship he'd get would be. Plans of glory never failed to cheer him up.

Except this time they did. He couldn’t help but wonder who would get Martín after him, and if they would be better at learning cat-speak. Assuming someone would be insane enough to buy him. How would they keep him clean?

He was being unfair, he knew that. It had been his fault. And Martín was being more reasonable now, which was... well, surprising. It had taken them almost the same time to come back to their senses.

The idea intrigued him, and he tried to explore it. In a way, their reactions had been similar, both had lashed out for fear of being attacked. So – he couldn't call Martín a wild beast over that, since he had done the same thing, and would have done worse in his place.

And look at him now. Martín was doing the same thing over and over, walking almost near the edge, looking at the river below and then going back straight at the door. One of the times he entered the cabin, before trying to go near the water again. He was wild, he didn't know anything, and he was seriously very weird.

The fifth time he did that, he turned to Luciano and glared, making clear that he wasn't supposed to laugh. “I wasn't going to,” Luciano told him, hiding a smile. He was over thinking this, and wasting his time. Since things were better, he should go on with his plan.

He was about to get inside to start the engines, when Martín got too close to the fence, maybe attracted by the low buzzing sound coming from it. Luciano groaned.

“Wait,” he said, “Wait, don't touch that. You won't like it. I said wait-”

He got up as fast as possible, grabbed him before he could touch it and tried to pull him away, but the silly cat tried to shake him off his arm, and of course he couldn't understand a word of it, so Luciano sighed, loudly, and let go.

“No, listen, it will hurt you, alright? Like... like this.”

He raised his fingers, slowly, and then pretended to touch it. Then he yelped and hastily pulled his hand away, shaking it and grimacing, and brought it to his mouth to show it would burn. Ta da.

Martín looked deeply intrigued by all this.

Then he touched it.

Of course.

The pain startled him, and Luciano grabbed his arm before he could fall on his butt – or his tail – to get away from it. It was nothing serious, because using the full power of the thing would eat too much of his coal and he never did it, but Martín wasn't used to it, he had never accidentally brushed over it or anything, and now he was making a weird keening sound and nursing his fingers against his chest and looking at Luciano as if he had done it on purpose to punish him again.

“You can't think this is my fault, I just warned you!” Luciano said, but Martín didn't wait to hear, he turned on his heels and went back to the cabin as fast as he could.

Luciano heard the cage door slamming shut. He followed him, cursing under his breath, and then raised his brows when he noticed that, at some point during his brooding time outside, Martín had taken the chance to steal his mat. He was now curling in it, holding his hand against his chest.

“I'm sorry,” he said to his feline thief, “Look, I've done that a million times, so I know how it feels, but I really told you so.”

Martín looked at him. He didn't seem afraid, but shocked and hurt and upset and he didn't know why Luciano had brought him to this nightmarish world and he wasn't even trying to figure it out what had happened as he usually did, and Luciano wanted to shake him.

“It was your fault, stop looking at me like that! I'll help you, ok, just give me a moment.”

He opened his cabinet, and got the aloe salve he had prepared for minor injuries. But when he knelt in front of the cage, Martín immediately turned away from him.

“No, come back,” Luciano pleaded, “Here, I'll let you put it yourself. Come on, you stupid cat, I'm tired of feeling guilty. Come here, baby, this will help.”

He opened the little jar, and, to his surprise, the sound made Martín turn back. He looked at the jar, and then he sat down, still holding his hand against his chest. But when Luciano offered it to him, he carefully put a finger inside.

Then he opened his mouth to lick it.

“No!” Luciano almost screamed, “No, don't do that, are you _trying_ to get hurt?”

This time, Martín stopped. And, following Luciano's very emphatic pantomime, he applied the salve to his wounded finger. His eyes widened, and he gasped in surprise when the pain receded.

Luciano reached out. After careful consideration, Martín rested his own hand on his open palm, and let Luciano take charge of the rest of the treatment. Now he looked demanding, and there was something in his eyes that made Luciano think that Martín was doing him a favor.

“Well, thank you,” he said, in case he was right, “There's nothing I wanted more right now.”

But it gave him a chance to have a closer look at his claws again and, after the intimate contact with those things, Luciano was seeing them in a whole new light. They were sharp, yes, little serrated knives on the tip of each finger, but there was something in the way they glittered that made them almost beautiful. And, to be completely honest, they didn't seem easy to be cut, not even with special instruments. Luciano wondered if the book would explain better how it was done. He'd check it out, because... but that was dumb. Of course his new owners would be careful, the cat-people were too valuable.

And they didn't touch his skin. Martín kept them away from his hand, even if it meant he couldn't relax his fingers like he probably wanted to.

He was being careful.

It made Luciano feel uncomfortable. He didn't have time to dwell on it, because Martín hissed at him, so he rolled his eyes and started to massage the salve in his palm, and the back of his hand, because his fingers were completely fine now.

He didn't mind doing that. The injury was so small that, by the time he was done, Martín wasn't feeling anything anymore. And, apparently, this made him consider forgiving him, because he opened the cage and went out, and sat by his side.

He leaned over to look at the stitches again, and this time Luciano let him. He could... shove him, or something, if he tried anything.

And he wasn't as wary anymore.

Martín narrowed his eyes, considering the situation. Then, without any warning, he shoved his finger in the jar too, and then- very carefully, so his claws never even brushed Luciano's skin – he spread the salve on his cheek, all over the wounds he had made.

It wouldn't work like that, Luciano thought, numbly, or he'd have done it himself. The salve did nothing for cuts that deep. It stung a little and he'd have to wash it off, because it felt sticky and uncomfortable, but – the way he did it, the touch so soft and so light, so careful, he - well, he hadn't expected that, and-

“Ah- that was- thank you. I-”

Martín beamed at him, obviously pleased with himself. Then, very carefully, he picked up the jar, and put it inside the cage.

Luciano didn't say anything. He got up, still shaken, and went to the control table. He shut down the fence, checked the fuel meters, then turned on the boiler levers.

He watched the little blinking lights, one slowing down for the fence, one speeding up for the burning coal, a little row of three for the hell of it. He sighed.

Then he shoved away Martín, who had come to peek at the controls.

“Let's read a little, ok? Oh, and I want my bed back.”

He got it from the cage, under Martín’s hissing protests, and put it back in its place. He didn't need to worry about the course, because it would follow automatically, as soon as the stupid engine decided to work. So he got Kirkland's book again, to see if there was something he was missing about all this. 

7\. 

Martín huffed when he sat down with the book in his lap, and wandered back to the control table.

“I don't care,” Luciano told him, “We both know you'll get bored, and then you'll come back running.”

Martín ignored him.

He got the book, and went to his mat. “You're just a silly kitty,” he said, “But from a smarter species. Aren't you? Martín?”

He didn't answer, of course, but threw him a quick glance before going back to the blinking lights. Maybe he was starting to recognize the name. Who knew.

Luciano opened on the chapter on cat-people. It was a bad idea; it was getting dark and soon he'd have to light a candle. Reading was bad enough without forcing his eyes. But he was too curious, and maybe Mr. Kirkland would say something useful if he stared at the page long enough. He opened it, and then Martin came and sat by his side.

He laid his head down on the book, and tried to make himself comfortable.

“Told you so,” Luciano sighed, “Go away, I'm trying to read”.

He pulled the book from underneath him and put it on his face. Martín swatted at it, then at Luciano's hands and squirmed so much that he had to get it off. Martín gave him one of his smug half-smiles, called it a victory and turned around to sleep.

Luciano poked his face.

“No, I'm still reading, I need to know this. But you can stay by my side.” Carefully – and with more effort than he thought this would take – he made him sit down. “And stop making faces at me, I'm reading about you.”

He opened the book again. After another moment of sulking, Martín rested his chin on his shoulder. This made it harder to move his arm, but fine, he'd turn the pages with the other hand.

So he saw the stuff about them being hunters, the general area where they could be found, everything he already knew. But when he reached the page with the drawing of the pack – or family, or whatever it was, Martín gasped, and leaned over to take a closer look, completely blocking Luciano's view.

He sighed.

“And while we're at it, who decided you things would make good pets? I'd like to have a word with them, because you're a demon and I can't focus on anything, and- hey!”

Martín had grabbed the page from the book, getting up and tearing it off in the same swift movement. He looked at it, and then ran to the cage, and shoved it underneath the pillow, and then laid down protectively on top of it, and Luciano was still trying to figure out what to say.

“What the hell! I paid for this book, you dumb cat, do you think this thing is cheap?”

He got up too, and crossed the cabin in two strides, but Martín looked up at his face, his ears turning down, then at his pocket – where Luciano kept the control – and picked the ripped page again.

He held it against his chest, then carefully put it on the floor outside the cage.

“You're _trying_ to make me feel guilty,” Luciano informed him, more annoyed than ever. “Fine, keep it, I wasn't going to use that. Idiot.”

He picked it up, and shoved it under the pillow for him. It wasn't like it was accurate anyway. 

“Now come back, so I can stop feeling bad.”

It took a little coaxing, because now Martín was embarrassed over showing fear, and he clearly hated to feel like that. When he finally agreed to come out, he did it without looking at him, raising his head as proudly as he could.

“Okay, let's pretend this didn't happen,” Luciano said amiably, if a little sharp. He went back to his mat, and, after a while, Martín sat by his side.

He opened the book.

“But don't do that again, alright? This was expensive. Now, let's see how much you'll let me read.”

It was a slow process. Martín kept putting his hand on the page, forcing Luciano to push it away. Then he wanted to turn the pages too, and every time there was an illustration, he shoved his head between Luciano and the page to see it better.

In short, he was a pest and Luciano wanted to hit him. After fifteen minutes without finishing a single line, he had to get something shiny to entertain him, and found the puzzle rings.

“Here. Watch this.” He solved the easy one, then put it back together again, jingling it a little so it would keep him interested, “Go play with it. And this one too. Just don't eat them.”

It worked. Martín grabbed both, jingling it too, his ears standing up and alert. He was about to lick it when Luciano went back to the book.

When he finished the chapter, full of the things he already knew, he bravely kept reading. The pages on dragons, and where to find them, and how to run away if you did. The unicorns and who could touch them, and an extremely embarrassing paragraph where the author tried to explain why he wasn’t qualified. And something about mermaids, and how to avoid them, because they would try to drown you. And fairies. Or faeries, as Mr. Kirkland called them.

The man was insane.

But then Luciano reached the next section, and it was all dedicated to training and taming techniques, with a more detailed chapter about all the species mentioned before. He had never reached this part before, mostly because he had no interest whatsoever in taming anything, and because this was page one hundred and twenty and by the fifth his eyes were already burning, so this was an unexpected treat.

“Look at this, he said something useful! Did you know fairies can touch unicorns even if they’re not virgins?”

Martín ignored him. He threw the rings away in frustration, then perked up when they tinkled against the floor. He went there to chase them.

Luciano went back to reading. More details about shaving, that he skimmed just so he wouldn't feel guilty over the haircut again, and the claws, that he skipped because it was boring, and then shower – it mentioned how much they hated it, so you should be careful until they got used to it, with a side note explaining that, if you happen to be lucky enough to capture a young one, you could maybe teach it to enjoy it. With luck.

Luciano looked at Martín. He was enraptured by the rings. One fell on the floor again, and he slammed his hand on it, like he had done last night to capture the red dot.

“Fine, but you're an adult,” Luciano told him. “So next time, I'm just kicking you to the river and you can wash yourself.”

As if, he thought, but whatever. He'd worry about it later. More about what they could eat – pretty much everything, but they hated vegetables. Of course. Who cared? He was starting to think his excitement had been premature, when he got to the part about taming.  
And then the book got creepy.  
The beginning was obvious – show them what to do, reward it when it obeys, punish it when it doesn't. The book mentioned the collar, of course, explaining that the cat-people were remarkably smart, so it didn't take too much of this for them to get it. It said they were very proud and prone to resent being reprimanded, so you should somehow use this lovely trait to your advantage, and trick them into trying to please you. Right. How?

Then Martín came back with the loose rings, put them on top of the page and smiled triumphantly. Luciano stared.

“You solved it? Even the hard one? How?”

His smile was particularly smug when he picked them up again. Then he sat by his side, resting his head on Luciano's shoulder, and when he was comfortable enough, he gave him the rings, and they were locked together again. Luciano hadn't even seen his hands moving.

The cat was clearly challenging him.

“You know, I'm reading something important, and it says here you should be trying to please me.”

But he picked them anyway, because if this silly cat could solve it, so could he. Eventually.

After three minutes, he gave them back. Martín nuzzled his face, in a very cheap attempt to comfort him for not being as clever as he was, picked up the rings, and let them loose again. In less than five seconds.

He was moving fast on purpose.

“As if I care,” Luciano grumbled. “It's just a stupid ring. Now, let's- oh. Erm.”

The next page was still about taming, and... well, about the things cat-people could do, which was basically nothing, because they weren't strong enough to pull carriages or anything and come on, that would be just wrong – the book didn't say it, but Luciano was sure this was the reason – and they weren't reliable enough for other services, since they got distracted by anything that tinkled and sparkled, _but_ , and that was what the very detailed picture was portraying, they could be used for pleasure, even if Mr. Kirkland made a point of saying that the church was against it.

In the picture, there was a man sitting on an armchair, and a woman on another, and they seemed to be talking and drinking tea. It was very lovely. Paintings on the wall, carpets on the floor, all that. And a cat-girl kneeling on the floor between the woman's legs.

She – the woman – had her hand resting on the catgirl's hair. The man had his feet resting on her back, probably to make a point, because Luciano couldn't imagine why someone would find this sexy. The catgirl had her hands on the woman's hips, so it wasn't as incredibly wrong as it would have been if she had been handcuffed, but it still made Luciano feel queasy. And the worst thing was, he wasn't sure if it was because he found it morally reprehensible, or just because he didn't want to imagine Martín going through that.

Ok, the Spanish Royal Family was strongly catholic, so the queen probably wouldn't make him service her. Or the king. But still. Martin licked people when he wanted what they were eating, for fuck's sake, people were bound to take advantage. He almost had, and he was trying to do the right thing.

On the other hand, hey. If they wanted to lick something, what harm could it be to just... point them at the right direction?

No, really, what was up with the dude's feet on her back?

“I bet Kirkland did the drawing himself, the sick twisted asshole. I bet he drooled all over it. I bet he made a large version to hang on the wall. I bet- and what do you want now?”

Martín wanted attention, obviously. But before Luciano could close the book and decide what to do, he saw the picture, and let out a surprised sound. Luciano hastily turned the page.

It didn't help. This one had the same catgirl – or at least he thought it was the same, which was silly, since this was all the portray of Mr. Kirkland's sick, sick fantasies, and not, like, a narrative with a single character – sitting on someone's lap, her ankles crossed behind the man's back. She was hiding her face in his shoulder, her long hair falling in wild lose strands down her back.

Again, the details were astonishing.

And this one wasn't as weird as the other. Martín had done the same thing. This... melting against him thing, resting his head on his shoulder. So the girl in the picture was probably fine.

Luciano would feel a lot better about all this if the rest of the page didn't show a list with all the steps to make them do it. At least Martín had come to his lap because he wanted to.

He looked at him. His blond cat was staring at the page, missing the point by a mile. He touched the girl's long hair with the tip of his finger, and then didn't look at Luciano.

In a very pointed way.

“You’re prettier with short hair,” Luciano said. He patted it, trying to smile. Martín didn't smile back, but didn't pull away either. He seemed a little torn himself.

Then he raised his hand, and touched the stitches on Luciano's cheek.

Luciano tried, he really tried to not let it bother him. He could guess what the cat was thinking, maybe that they were even, or maybe just that he understood, or maybe that he was trying to, but it would be something along these lines. But he couldn't stand still, because Martín still had his claws, and it was still too close to his eyes, and he could do something – not even out of spite, just his kitty silliness coming to play, he could try to pull or rip the stitches, because it was something he didn't know.

So Luciano held his wrist and made him lower it, trying to act casual. Then he got up, ignoring Martín's suddenly accusing eyes.

“Look, I'm sorry, but this just got too weird, all right? We should go to bed. Both of us. To our separate beds. I need to think about some things.”

God, I'm disgusting, he thought. I'm the sickest person I know. Except for Mr. Kirkland.

But first things first. He got the dulce de leche from the cabinet, with what was left of that fish from before. He put it in the cage, watching Martín still on the mat watching him. Then he also filled a bowl with water, feeling sicker by the second, and then he finally snapped at him.

“I'm sorry, but I won't let you stay out. I know you don't sleep, and I do, and I can't keep an eye on you, and you know I'd have to because you'd touch something or break something or hurt yourself with something. So, get inside and stop looking at me like that.”

Martín glared. Luciano went there to fetch him. But as soon as he held his arm Martín got up, shaking it free, and walked by himself to the cage, looking proud and disdainful. He curled up against the pillow, his back to Luciano.

He sighed, and locked the cage. When he went back, the rings were on his mat, neatly separated.

“You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?”

He pushed the rings inside the cage, knowing Martín wouldn't sulk for too long and would need to entertain himself later. Then he went to his mat, laid down and tried to sleep.

It wasn't easy. His night was filled with strange erotic dreams, and even in the dream he felt guilty, because if you take an intelligent species to hurt them until they learned how to please you, how could you live with yourself after? How could you enjoy it? And yet the dreams wouldn’t stop, and he woke up a million times, and in every single one he’d see Martín's green eyes shining in the dark.

8\. 

The cat was asleep when Luciano got up, right before sunrise. Good, at least he wouldn't get distracted. He turned off the fence, waited for the thirty minutes it took for the engine to rest, before he could turn it on again. He took the time to add more coal.

He considered making coffee, but the smell would bother Martín's sleep and he didn't want that. Not yet. He raised the anchor, started the engine, his control desk turning into a small constellation of twinkling lights, and then the ship was finally moving.

He watched the course, checking the coordinates from the table, then again by his own map and compass, because Luciano had never trusted the thing. So far it had been always right, so maybe one day he would believe it. He patted the desk, to make up for it.

Ok, he was insane, so what? He had spent the night dreaming about inappropriately touching his cat. He could engage with a table if he wanted to.

Not his cat. He was going to sell him. That was the plan. He tried to read the book again, and the next part was interesting – all about the price people were willing to pay for one of those – but he couldn't get into it. Martín looked so young when he was asleep. Luciano wondered how he was seeing all this. Could it be that he saw him as his owner? That didn't really ring true, because why would he? Unless they were... prone to do that, to submit to random strangers. Which they weren't. At least this one wasn’t.

And he wasn't exactly submitting. Or- he was, but not like an animal would. He was overruling some of his instincts, and letting Luciano get away with things, but it didn’t feel like submission, not at all. Martín was approaching him as an equal, trying to understand him as someone meeting a strange foreigner.  
An hour slid by, very slowly. When he gave up and made his coffee, Martín woke up. He stretched, raising his hands above his head, and then straightening his legs, arching his back until he was satisfied. He turned to his side, sitting down with his legs shamelessly spread, and searched around for the bowl of water. He leaned down, lapping it straight from the bowl.

Luciano noticed he was staring. Still holding his cup of coffee. But. Of course, right? What was he expecting? Martín obviously wouldn't ask for a glass. It's just. That.

He gulped, trying to get a grip. Martin looked at him, and then he got up, grabbing the bars. This time Luciano didn't even try to resist the impulse. He got up too and unlocked the thing.

Martín went straight to the control table.

He wanted to touch everything. Luciano didn't really blame him, there were red lights and yellow lights and lights that blinked and flickered and chased, and he supposed the thing was fascinating for someone who had never seen it.

“But you still can't touch it,” he said, “You'll press something and sink us both.”

He grabbed his hands. Martín tried to swat him away, staring at it. He tried to look underneath the table, to see what was making the lights blink like that, and Luciano watched the rapid display of emotions in his face, the wonder and the growing frustration with not being able to figure this out. When Luciano thought he would finally snap and punch something, he held his arms again, turning him around with a little shove on the back.

Martín didn't want to go yet. He just turned back again, grabbing the anchor lever. Luciano held his hand again, and this went on for a while and after five minutes he was this close to locking the cuffs together when he realized that this was a game, and Martín was doing it on purpose. He was even pausing before touching something, to give Luciano time to grab his hand.

He looked happy.

So this time he didn't let go.

“Let's find something else for you to play with, ok? Something that won't break. Even more, I mean.”

Martín waited. Then he got bored, and started to mess with the desk again, so Luciano just... embraced his waist and led him away. This time Martín let him, his curiosity picked up. He looked a little wary when he saw the cage, but Luciano wasn't planning to put him there. Now, he had to come up with something for him to do.

… something that wasn't a sin or a crime, that is. He stopped, holding him like that, trying to think. Martín seemed content enough with staying here in his arms, but that would last less than five seconds.

It was a good thing that he was so skinny or holding him would be insanely hard. Martín still had five or six centimeters of advantage over him. But he didn't seem to notice, it was like height had nothing to do with his defensive skills. Or whatever they were. Or maybe this was also a conscientious decision. That he wouldn't try to overpower him.

Except no, because he didn't make conscientious decisions, ok? And Luciano had captured him, and he was going to take him to Brazil to sell him to the highest bidder and that was all. He didn’t care either way.

“You're just a silly kitty, that's all you are. And I'd love to keep you as my pet, but I won't, because it's a dumb idea, so stop trying to make me think you’re a person with a tail.”

Martín looked at him, and then tried to escape his embrace. He hadn't liked his voice, and Luciano wasn't surprised, he didn't know why he was sounding like that. Where this sudden anger was coming from. He should just put him in the cage, and then go back to thinking about Martín as it, or he'd make this harder on himself, should stop thinking about the morals and ethics of what he was about to do, because these rules were for humans. And he was a hunter, he killed animals. He could -theoretically- have killed this one too, if it weren't too valuable – and too useless- and-

Martín turned to the cabinet, still squirming, and pushed his shoulders away. Luciano let him go, watched as he went there and tried to open the little door.

“I was going to feed you,” he grumbled, “Forgive me if I was trying to think.”

He shoved him aside, ignoring Martín's huff, and picked the dulce de leche. Then he sat on the floor. He couldn’t see the control table from here, but the automatic compass would prevent them from being stuck. If it worked.

Martín knelt in front of him, looking excited, and climbed into his lap again. It was amazing how Luciano still wasn't used to it. And how all his thoughts had no effect on his body temperature when Martín did that. This time he straddled his legs, sitting on his thighs, his long tail incredibly distracting behind his back, and licked his lips in anticipation.

Luciano decided to take off his shirt. No reason. He just- really had to or he wouldn't be able to breathe. So, he untied the strings.

Martín frowned. When Luciano pulled it up over his head, he gasped and stared at the fabric with green eyes round like plates.

“What,” Luciano said, “It's hot, alright? Don't look at me like that.”

He fished the control out of the pocket, crumpled the shirt into a ball, and threw it at Martín's face, just because the stare was making him nervous. Martín jumped, almost stepping on his leg in the process, and then went for the kill.

Oh well, Luciano didn't like the shirt anyway. Martín took a few minutes to defeat it, and he was still hissing when the shirt fell on the floor. He turned back to him, his eyes still bright with alarm.

Luciano smiled, his hand ready on the control. But Martín stopped, his claws retracting. He gave the shirt one last dirty look, and glared at Luciano, probably warning him to not do that again.

Then he climbed back into his lap. He touched his chest with both hands, feeling the skin and the muscles, trying to get used to the idea that he hadn’t just ripped out his own skin. Martín decided it wasn't enough and leaned over and licked him, and Luciano would have been amused, if it weren't for the fact that the cat was licking his chest while squirming naked in his lap and-

Martin stopped, a light pout forming in his lip. He really hadn't enjoyed the surprise. But then in the next second he was over it. He slid closer so their chests were almost touching, and then, in the middle of the short-circuit burning through his head, Luciano noticed he was mimicking the position from the book.

And he seemed a little confused, now that he had done it. Didn't seem to get the point. So, he looked around, searching from the jar, and then Luciano mumbled something that could have been anything, and picked it up and unscrewed the lid.

He raised it in front of Martín's lips, who lit up when he recognized the treat, happily licking the metallic disc. Why not. He was here. He wanted it. Even if he didn't know what was going on.

Luciano could pull him near, could see how he would react if he touched his not so intimate parts, could find out if he'd feel human pleasure with it. He could make his own rules. Then it wouldn't be so wrong. Because Martín wanted to befriend him with his whole body, so why shouldn't he take him up on the offer?

The cat looked at him, his green eyes full of expectancy. Not because of their position, or because of the heat coming from Luciano's body. He was just waiting for another treat. This was so, so unfair, and Luciano was tired of resisting the temptation and it was all so unfair.

He picked up the spoon, then decided he didn't want it. He deserved a treat too, that's what.

So he put his finger in the jar, coating it with the cream, and then offered it to him. Martín blinked a few times, confused, and then – tentatively – licked it.

Luciano smiled faintly, wondering if he wasn’t looking a little insane, as Martín licked his finger clean. He put his finger in the jar again, and then raised to his lip, letting him lick it as much as he wanted. Martín looked at him when he finished, clearly asking for more, and Luciano started to bite his lip, hard, but he kept doing it, feeling the slightly raspy touch of his tongue. He looked so innocent doing that, focusing only in the taste. Luciano put his other arm around his waist, pulling him even closer – oh God what am I _doing_ \- and Martín just rested his body against his chest, too distracted by the sweet.

No, really, what was he doing?

Martín scowled when he stopped. Luciano tried to smile.

“You're so greedy,” he said, weakly, “Here, you can get it yourself, then.”

Martín was still waiting. So – because he was still sitting on his lap, because Luciano wanted to communicate that he was done, because it was just so tempting – he rested his hand on the cat's legs, spread open like always, because he was completely unaware. Martín waited a few seconds, then did a light sort of hmph sound and raised the jar.

Luciano had to intervene, because he looked about to turn everything on his face. He held his wrist and made him lower his hand, then smiled as encouragingly as he could. Martín got it – he put his own finger into it, a little awkwardly, and then licked it.

“That's it,” Luciano said. “Now if you don't mind,” and he let his hand fall to the cat's thigh again. His skin was surprisingly soft, without being delicate. He rubbed it, massaging it as softly as he could, and tried not to bite his lip again. Martín smiled, and then nuzzled him, and this time his mouth almost touched Luciano's lips. Then he stopped, lost in thought for a few seconds.

Then, when he put his finger in the jar again, he raised it to Luciano's mouth.

That was. Surprising. Very surprising.

He opened his mouth, without thinking about it – trying hard to stop thinking about it, and licked his finger. It was different than what Martín had done, he had to admit. Slower, and not nearly as half as innocent. But Martín waited, and Luciano was delighted to see that a light blush covered his face when he did it, and Luciano could have kissed him. He really could. Here – in the middle of the jungle, his ship, his personal little world, inside his own cheap fences, he could have done it, it would have been the easiest thing in the world. His whole body ached with the effort of not doing it.

He could have kissed him.

It would have been more natural than breathing.

But it wouldn't be right. Not until he was sure they were speaking the same language. He’d have to let him go, wouldn’t he? And pretend this had never happened. Let him go before he could do something he'd regret.

But if he did that... Martín had learned that humans were capricious beings who'd give you sweet things if you didn't attack, so he'd be confident with others, and then what? Someone was bound to come this way. If Luciano didn't take him, someone else would. The species was too valuable. People had gone farther for far less.

Enough of this, he couldn't stay here like this or his brain would start to melt. He closed the jar, trying to work up his determination.

Martin, who wasn't done with the sweet yet, glared at him. Luciano laughed. It was a nervous, shaken sound. See, that's why this was so, so wrong. He was so innocent, and didn't deserve this. He didn't. Luciano should make him get up, should do something right now and-

Martín yawned, and unceremoniously rested his head on Luciano's shoulders. This pressed his chest against Luciano's body, his intimate parts on his belly, and Luciano gasped, locking his hands behind the cat's back, pressing a tight, loud kiss to his neck.

Fuck this. And his conscience. And everything. He wanted him more than he had ever wanted anyone in his entire life.

Martín raised his head, suddenly alert, and Luciano gave a short, small choked laughter when he realized it was because of the sound. He nuzzled his cheek this time, making Martín turn to him again, and then he kissed his lips. A light, lingering kiss, making the same silly sound.

Martín touched his lips, curious, and then he pressed his lips on Luciano's cheek and tried to get the same effect. He had no idea how to do it, and he would get frustrated as soon as he realized it, but for now this was just too wonderful, too amazing, too much for him. Luciano raised one hand, pressing his head onto his shoulder, the other sliding down to touch his buttocks, because he was here, and he was too beautiful and too pure and Luciano wanted him, even if he could feel the soft hair where his tail started, it didn't bother him at all, he just followed it with his hand, and this time Martín didn't seem to mind. He could hear the soft purr when he rubbed behind his ears. Maybe he could do this. He wanted it, God, how he _wanted_ it.

Except Martín had no idea. Not only about this – even if that part was true too – but about Luciano, and what he had been doing to him, and what he was planning to do. But he wasn't going to sell him, not anymore. He had no idea what to do, but it wouldn't be that. So maybe-

And then the automatic compass went insane. The siren snapped him out of the haze, and Martín straightened his back, searching from the sound, and then he jumped from his lap and ran to the control table to see what it was.

It took Luciano another minute until he could do the same. His heart was pounding in his throat. He went there to find Martín happily pressing away all the buttons he could find, chasing the lights. He cursed, and pulled down the lever.

They all went off.

So did the noise.

Martín let out a disappointed whimper, but Luciano ignored it, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. The coordinates were all right. So was the fuel meter. And they hadn't bumped into anything. It took him five minutes to remember that the thing was supposed to warn him about any change in the course, and the river did a curve ahead of them. So that was it.

He couldn't decide if he should thank it or kill it. But. Fine. Now he'd have to wait to start the engine again, but _fine_.

Martín was still confused, but the lights weren't doing anything interesting, no matter how hard he pressed the buttons, so he got bored. Luciano watched as he wandered off.

It was only when Martín crossed the door to go to the deck that he mustered the strength to move, because without the fence the silly cat could fall in the river, and then what?

And then he had to run, because he heard Martín's wail, the same sound he had made the first time he had touched the fence. Luciano rushed outside, but this time he hadn't hurt himself.

He was standing in the middle of the deck, watching the river and doing nothing, but Luciano could tell he was upset even before he turned, from the way his tail puffed up. And when he did turn, his eyes were wide, the pupil dilated and inhuman, his ears pressed against his head. He looked ready to attack.

Luciano couldn't even begin to imagine why. He searched for the control, but he had left it on the floor where he had been sitting, so- he took one step back, trying to look as harmless as he could. And didn't say anything, not sure if his voice would help or make things worse. Martín looked around, which was surprising, because he wouldn't take his eyes from a possible enemy, and then went from one side of the deck to the other, and then looked at Luciano again, whimpering and making large gestures with both hands, and then he went to him, and Luciano took another step back, raising his hands. He was already thinking about how to throw him down, if he could lock the cuffs without the help of the control, but Martín glanced at his cheek, and then pulled back his hand before it could touch Luciano's skin.

He _was_ thinking. This wasn't an animal lost in instincts, he was thinking, and overruling them, and deciding not to hurt him, and trying to explain what was wrong to someone who didn’t know his language. He pointed at the river, and then at the forest, and then at the river again, looking from side to side, fear written in every trace of his face.

Then he rushed inside, and came back holding the paper, that he held right under Luciano's nose, pointing at the image. It was the page he had ripped off from the book, with the drawing of the cat-family.

Luciano took it from his hands, and stared. Then Martín pointed at the forest, and at the picture again, then looked from one side to the other.

“Hey,” Luciano whispered. He patted his shoulders, then, slowly, very carefully, curled his fingers around his nape, pulling his head down.

Martín rested his forehead against Luciano's, and then he suddenly hid his face on his shoulder, searching for comfort again. Luciano petted his hair.

“You want your family. Is that it? You're scared, because you don't recognize anything?”

He let his hand fall to his back, rubbing it between his shoulders. This, and his voice, seemed to have an effect, because Martín raised his face, and then he took back the picture, without looking at Luciano's eyes. He'd feel embarrassed any time now, and then he'd try to act proud and sure of himself again, but it didn't matter, because Luciano got it.

He went back inside, back to the control table, and sat down on his chair.

After a while, Martín came back, and stood before him, trying to decide what to do with himself. Since Luciano didn't gave him any space, he knelt on the floor between his legs, and rested his head on his thigh.

“Now I don't get it,” Luciano told him, “What do you want?”

But he touched his hair anyway, running his fingers through it.

He wanted to keep him. It would be safer, because Martín was so vulnerable. Someone would find him again, and if they didn’t, he'd just show himself, like he had done to him, to someone who wouldn't ever notice how intelligent he was, and would treat him like an animal.

But Martín took the picture again, and looked at it, then up at him, and Luciano sighed. Ah well, he thought. It's not like I'm not used to this dump. And to being alone.

And it didn’t matter. Martín’s request was clear as water, and this wasn’t Luciano’s decision to make.

9.

It felt stupid to go all the way back to where he had been just this morning, but he decided to take it philosophically. Life was stupid, what can you do?

Martín sat on the dock, anxiously watching the river, cheering up as he started to recognize the place by who knew what kind of detail, because to Luciano it all seemed like the same dumb forest. He smiled when he saw it, beaming up at Luciano, and then the smile melted into a suddenly confused look.

Luciano wasn't surprised. He seemed good at picking up his moods.

So, how to explain this?

He waved. Pointed at himself, then at the ship, and then he pointed at Martín and at the trees, hoping he would get it. He held his wrists, loosening the cuffs, and then the collar, shoving it inside his back pocket. He wanted to hold him again, rub the red marks off his skin.

He pointed at the forest instead.

Martín, who had stared unblinkingly at the cuffs when Luciano worked on the clasp, took it in stride without the slightest sign of curiosity about Luciano's motivation. He rubbed his own neck when the collar came off and then watched Luciano's pantomime.

“It's really not that hard,” Luciano said, forcing a somewhat bitter smile, “You're so clever, aren't you?”

Martín pouted. But he did get it, because he suddenly ran inside the cabin, and when he came back, he had the ripped picture and the rings in his hand.

He gave the first one to Luciano, shoving it against his chest, and then held the rings carefully in front of his eyes.  
And solved the puzzle very, very slowly.

Luciano smiled, this time for real. He couldn't help it.

“I'll miss you, you know? Try not to be caught again. I don't want to see someone else getting that money.”

He grabbed the rings, and then raised his hand and touched his hair. And looked at him, as apologetically as he could.

Martín raised his hand too, and touched the cuts on his cheeks. Luciano knew the scar would stay – maybe not forever, but for a very long time. Martín came really close, and nuzzled his other cheek. And then pressed his lips against Luciano's, quiet and unmoving.

Luciano kissed him again, as noisily as before, smiled himself as Martín licked his lip. And kept smiling when he jumped easily from the deck to the ground and disappeared in the trees, climbing one faster than he had thought possible.

He heard the leaves shuffling. And then nothing.

It took him a few hours to finally turn on the engine, and start the journey back to civilization. The worst thing was, he could imagine Martín coming back to that place, because the cat knew they were saying goodbye, but he probably couldn't tell for how long. Luciano wondered if he would wait, and if he would whine, and if he would miss him.

If he would regret leaving the dulce de leche behind.

“Well, of course you will,” he said, and then shook his head at himself. It was only fair, right? He hadn't really captured him. It had been just luck, nothing more. Sheer blind luck.

So he sat at the control desk, watching the river, watching the changes in the landscape and moping until it was almost dark. Then he took the rings and practiced solving the puzzle for what was left of the day, twisting the rings around each other. Memorizing the trick, so he wouldn't forget. So he'd never forget.


End file.
